


How Does it Look

by Incessant_Darkness



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incessant_Darkness/pseuds/Incessant_Darkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi and Midorima are roommates; Midorima isn't certain it won't be a disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Does it Look

**Author's Note:**

> Written for character battle over on bps. Enjoy~

To say the least, it had been unexpected when Akashi had approached Midorima just before they had both graduated highschool to propose a shared living situation for their university experience. It had sounded logical enough when Akashi had explained it. They knew each other, were tolerant of each other, and could potentially coexist without the risk of any major roommate incompatibilities.

 

Of course, Midorima had not considered his own painfully obvious attraction to Akashi when he had agreed to the arrangement.

 

Despite the grand potential for disaster however, Midorima managed to survive the first couple of months of cohabitation without incident, so much so that the atmosphere grew lull and comfortable. There had certainly been moments when Midorima had found his attention lingering too long on Akashi—particularly in the in the evenings when Akashi would come back after a jog to stretch out his muscles in the living room and Midorima would watch him from the kitchen under the guise of making tea—but on the whole, Akashi never seemed to notice the attention and Midorima was glad for it.

 

Until one day when Midorima was filling the electric kettle and setting the water to boil just as Akashi came in through the front door. There was a healthy red glow that had settled against his cheekbones and Midorima made sure to do no more than glance at him in passing. “Would you like some tea, Seijuro?”

 

“Yes, please.” Akashi shed his shoes and walked towards the living room, but instead of beginning his stretches as he usually did, he turned to Midorima in the kitchen. “I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?”

 

Startled, Midorima nodded almost too quickly before he broke the spell of those calm, wide eyes staring at him—through him, as though Akashi had intimate knowledge of the perverse nature of his afternoon tea ritual—and managed to find his words. “Yes of course. What is it?”

 

“I need you to take a look at something.”

 

Midorima frowned as Akashi beckoned him forward but nodded. In the two seconds it took for Midorima to circumvent the half-wall that separated them, Akashi had dropped down to his knees on one of the seating cushions and pulled the hem of his shirt up so that a narrow swathe of skin was showing.

 

“I need you to check this spot I have on my back.” Akashi explained, but Midorima hardly heard him. His mouth had gone dry and his heart was pattering uneasily in his chest, reorganizing the blood supply in his body in ways that were distinctly unfavourable just then.

 

“I don’t see anything.” Midorima rasped, and wondered if his face looked as red hot as it felt.

 

“Well no you wouldn’t from up there. Take a proper look Shintaro.”

 

In spite of his instincts screaming at Midorima to run for the hills, he dropped down behind Akashi without protest; it would have been odd for him to refuse at this point, he told himself. Up close Midorima drew a careful breath and instantly regretted it when his lungs filled with the heady scent of Akashi’s sweat, only barely dulled by the crisp edge of autumn and frost that clung to him.

 

“I don’t see anything.” Midorima repeated, trying to keep his voice even so as not to reveal the fact that the smell of Akashi alone had just given him a tearing hard-on.

 

“Look lower.” Akashi instructed, his fingers releasing the shirt he’d pulled up—it stayed scrunched up against his spine, clinging to the skin as if by decree and Midorima had to swallow hard to avoid choking on the lump that had risen in his throat.

 

“Seijuro, I don’t think…” Midorima’s ability to form words into a sentence went straight out the window when Akashi’s fingers reached back to push the waistband of his track pants down an inch. It felt as though all the air in the room had suddenly burned to ashes and all Midorima could do was stare at the smooth arch of the top of Akashi’s ass peeking out from his waistband.

 

“I—”

 

This time Akashi didn’t even make a show of waiting for Midorima to begin to stutter out a denial, instead his hand slipped back to capture Midorima’s wrist. Midorima’s mind took momentarily leave of his body and when it returned Akashi had his fingers hooked into the waistband his pants.

 

“Seijuro, I don’t think I can do this.” Midorima squeaked, uncertain of what exactly he was refusing just then, though the throbbing length between his legs seemed eager to jump to all sorts of conclusions

 

“You’re a medical student aren’t you? Just tell if the spot looks odd.”

 

“The key word being _student_.”

 

“Just look would you?”

 

Midorima bit his lip and held his breath as Akashi’s lower half subtly flexed upwards, causing Midorima’s finger to drag his pants down just that much lower. For a moment all higher brain functionality ceased to exist as Midorima watched the play of muscles, and a single bead of sweat wind down Akashi’s spine to slip between—

 

“Well?” Midorima was certain Akashi had just broken some critical part of his soul with the near seductive tenor of his voice over that single word.

 

“That’s a birthmark Seijuro, you’ve had it as long as I’ve known you.” Midorima said tightly, pressing his knees together with a sullen determination as he remembered the lingering glances at Akashi’s body in the locker rooms throughout middle school. It brought a flush to Midorima’s face that he could make the determination with such confidence but he fought off the embarrassment and yanked his hand away, letting Akashi’s pants slip back into place.

 

“Ah is it? Well that sets my mind at ease. It’s a good thing you always pay such thorough attention to my body.” Akashi said pushing to his feet without any further ado—as if he hadn’t just violated Midorima in ways he would never recover from—and glided into the kitchen where the kettle had flipped off, the water having boiled. “Would you like some tea, Shintaro?”

 

Akashi’s eyes were watching him all too knowingly from the kitchen, a small smile on his lips. Midorima’s eyes dropped to his lap where his erection was straining in a terribly undignified manner at the general direction of Akashi’s voice. “Yes, please.” Midorima choked out weakly, and resigned himself to the hell that Akashi had in store for him.


End file.
